Bus Report #1008
This afternoon, the 22 Fillmore bus headed home.
At McAllister a young man I've seen on the bus for years gets on, slides into the seat beside me.
I remember him as a teen. A quiet kid, quieter than his friends at least, big, but still a kid. Went to Everett, if I recall, then to Mission.
He has to be in his early 20s now, still big, still quiet, but something is not right with him.
I've seen him around town as well as on the bus.
All kinds of weather, all times of day. Just by himself. No friends.
Today. His clothes are clean but worn. Hair could use a trim. String of something clinging to his scalp. It is obvious he doesn't take the best care of himself anymore. Sitting beside me, his body emanates heat and dampness and he's restless. No jacket. Just a bottle of energy drink.
His brown eyes bloodshot but wet, and bright.
I can't help it, I worry.
Worry about him, and for him.
Is it drugs? Mental illness?
He glances at my shoes, my totebag, swigs his drink. Leans forward as though about to take off running.
He gets out by Panda Express, walks in through the front door of the restaurant. I watch him weave through the tables and exit through the back door.
At McAllister a young man I've seen on the bus for years gets on, slides into the seat beside me.
I remember him as a teen. A quiet kid, quieter than his friends at least, big, but still a kid. Went to Everett, if I recall, then to Mission.
He has to be in his early 20s now, still big, still quiet, but something is not right with him.
I've seen him around town as well as on the bus.
All kinds of weather, all times of day. Just by himself. No friends.
Today. His clothes are clean but worn. Hair could use a trim. String of something clinging to his scalp. It is obvious he doesn't take the best care of himself anymore. Sitting beside me, his body emanates heat and dampness and he's restless. No jacket. Just a bottle of energy drink.
His brown eyes bloodshot but wet, and bright.
I can't help it, I worry.
Worry about him, and for him.
Is it drugs? Mental illness?
He glances at my shoes, my totebag, swigs his drink. Leans forward as though about to take off running.
He gets out by Panda Express, walks in through the front door of the restaurant. I watch him weave through the tables and exit through the back door.
posted by Rachel at 7:30 PM
2 Comments:
Oh, dear. Schizophrenia seems to manifest itself during the late teens/early 20s and that's what it sounds like. Poor guy.
That was my guess, too, Michael.
Sad.
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